


Crying Wolf

by ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Ravenous (1999)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Once Upon a Time/Ravenous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers/pseuds/ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle has faced many beasts in her time; the Dark One, the Yaoguai, a werewolf and an Evil Queen... Her latest beast just so happens to be a centuries-old wendigo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters and have never claimed to. Not even as a joke.

 

                The man who they claimed was Mr. Gold wasn’t. Belle was as sure of this as she was sure that she was alive and that she hated hospitals.

                There had been plenty of celebrating upon Emma and Henry’s return to Storybrooke, everyone simply acknowledging Mr. Gold’s return. There was no Baelfire amongst them (rumor had it that the conflict was resolved, but Bae had his own life now and Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to interfere).

                A small party was taking place at Granny’s and Belle had donned the yellow dress he enjoyed, taking extra time with her hair. She hoped no one had spoiled the fact that she had her memories back; she wanted to surprise him. She picked up her gift and headed from the library towards Granny’s.

                The look on his face when she had smashed their chipped cup against the wall… That was one thing she wished she could forget. There weren’t enough words in the world to make up for that, but she planned on trying.

                She slipped quietly into the busy diner, everyone preoccupied with Emma and Henry. Belle caught Ruby’s eye and the waitress smirked, nodding towards the back. Of course Mr. Gold wouldn’t be in the center of it all; he didn’t like people anymore than people liked him. She was proud to be an exception. She ducked her head shyly as she saw a man in a suit leaning on his cane, standing alone and smiling at her.

                She met his eyes and froze.

                He smiled, “Hello dearie.”

                Her memory told her that everything was right; the hair, the brogue, the general form of his body… But it wasn’t him. It was not Mr. Gold or Rumplestiltskin. It was an imposter.

                When she didn’t respond, he took a few steps closer, “Belle? You alright?”

                How could she be alright if someone was impersonating her lover?

                The others started to notice her reluctance to run and embrace this man. Ruby came up beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Belle…you remember Rumplestiltskin…right?” She asked worriedly.

                Belle’s gaze dropped, “Of course, it’s just…”

“It wasn’t exactly a happy farewell,” The imposter supplied with a sad smile, “We’re both a little shy after that incident.”

                His eyes…she couldn’t get over how wrong his eyes were.

“Is that for me?” He asked gently, motioning towards the package. She was too still to pull the package away, even though she’d rather destroy it than give it to this man.

                He took it tentatively, smiling at her, “Thank you, Belle.”

                Even the way he said her name was right… But there was no love to his smile.

                He opened it carefully and pulled out the chipped cup she had so painstakingly put back together. After Mr. Gold had left she had gone over to clean up the mess she had created, staring at the shards…and with each shard a piece of her memories returned, until after she had glued the cup back together and she remembered everything.

                He tapped the infamous flaw in the cup, “I think you missed a spot,” he teased.

                She bristled, “No. No I did not.”

                She knew it was a quip, but it wasn’t funny coming from the pretender. Without an explanation, she turned on her heels and left Granny’s, not really caring who stared or how it made the man feel.

                Rumplestiltskin’s eyes looked at her with a warmth and tenderness he never showed anyone else, and even when he looked at others she could see the glint of humanity deep in his irises. But whoever had been there pretending to be her true love had void eyes, lacking any human warmth. Bestial, even, calculating and waiting to pounce.

**III**

                He did not come after her that night or the next morning. Not that Belle had ventured farther than the caretaker’s apartment or the library since her flight from Granny’s. If Storybrooke was about to be burned to the ground by a doppelganger then there was really nothing she could do to save them. She couldn’t even say “I told you so” because, coincidentally, she had told no one of her suspicions.

                She was shelving books when the front door opened, the tap-tap of a cane relieving. She turned, ready to greet Mr. Gold from his trip back…

                …but it was those soulless eyes watching her again, his facial expression just an attempt at caring.

“Did I upset you yesterday?” He asked softly.

                Belle turned back to shelving, tensing up, “Yes…”

“I’m sorry, love.” He took a couple of steps closer, “I thought you’d be happy to see me back…”

“I will be, once the real you comes home.”

                She was quite proud of the way he had stopped in his tracks at her statement.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you aren’t Rumplestiltskin,” she said casually, moving to a new shelf, “You may have everyone else in this town fooled, but not me.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps you have a memory or two missing…”

“I’m sure,” she said firmly.

“Then congratulations.” It took everything in Belle not to jump as the voice suddenly came from directly behind her, warm breath washing over her ear, “Seems like you’re the only smart lamb in the entire flock of Storybrooke.”

                Belle set the book she was holding down, focusing on keeping from stuttering, “Who are you?”

“Why don’t I tell you over dinner?”

“I’m not going to have dinner with a stranger.”

“So your grandmother _has_ warned you about speaking with wolves… That makes my job a little more difficult.”

                She turned around carefully, practically brushing up against the man who bore such an eerie resemblance to Rumple. There was a mix of curiosity and hunger in his expression. Very wolfish indeed.

“What are you doing here?” She murmured.

“Settling down for a bit,” He matched her volume. There was a dark twinkle in his eye, as though he were making a joke she didn’t understand.

                His hand came up and cupped her chin, examining her, “So you’re the Beauty, eh? I can see that,” he admitted, then grinned, “Intelligent, too… Oh yes, I am going to have fun with you, drinking your innocence like a fine wine as I waltz you to the lakes of hellfire.”

                Belle fought the urge to spit in his face, or bite his hand, or really anything to tell him that his deception would not be tolerated.

                This was where the game began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am shamelessly drawing on the fact that Robert Carlyle plays both characters, though I'm not sure if Colonel Ives would give up his mustache even to go undercover (it is a fantastic 'stache). I do love a good psychological thriller, so it's about time I wrote one. And don't get your hopes up for Ivelle, unless you're drunk standing on your head and squinting really hard to force it to be Ivelle. Then I can't stop you, even if it's not my intention.


	2. Into the Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle still doesn't trust the imposter, even at the urgings of Mary Margaret and Ruby. After her confession brings a dire warning, Belle is determined to figure out who is the wolf in Gold's clothing.

Every day for a week, the imposter would come to the library in the early afternoon. He tried to coax her into conversation but Belle could not seem to act casual around him. He made sure that they were never alone, that she never had an opportunity to interrogate him without a witness. If anyone else suspected, they didn’t say anything.

“How has your day been?” He asked, smiling without it reaching his eyes.

“Fine,” she said coolly, “Been busy at the shop?”

“No more than usual.” A vague nonspecific answer. He was good at those.

                Belle’s peripherals caught Mary Margaret trying (and failing) to not appear as though she were listening. Her face was strained, willing the conversation to go well. For all her kindness, Belle doubted Snow White would know the real Rumplestiltskin if the rest of the world were wearing shirts saying “I’m not Rumplestiltskin”.

                He set a book down on the counter, as he had the past six days. Today was an account of the Donner Party tragedy. She reached for it and his hand rested on hers, the man leaning forward until she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

“Come now, I’m practically _giving_ you the answer,” he murmured.

“You could just tell me,” she growled, noticing Mary Margaret’s concerned gaze.

A chuckle rumbled deep in his throat, “Where’s the fun in that?”

He pulled away and Belle checked out the book for him.

“I really do wish you’d come over for dinner. I just picked up a few steaks today and it would be such a shame to eat them alone.”

“I’m sorry, Rumplestiltskin, but I’m still terribly busy trying to get the library situated again. I was in the hospital for awhile before they released me.”

                The man appeared mournful, but there was a spark of playfulness in his eyes.

“Alright…if you change your mind you know where to find me,” he said, then started towards the door. The drama queen seemed to be emphasizing Mr. Gold’s limp a little more than usual.

                He was barely out the door when Mary Margaret came over to the desk.

“Belle…” She whimpered, hesitating before continuing, “I know you and Rumplestiltskin have hit a rough patch, but can’t you at least give him a chance? He’s your true love.”

                Belle glanced at the list of the books he had checked out, his account still pulled up on her computer. A few cookbooks, books on America’s westward expansion and, just yesterday, one on Native American folklore. All she could conclude for certain was that he liked history and cooking.

“I just need time,” Belle murmured. Mary Margaret didn’t look like she agreed but she didn’t further broach the subject.

                Maybe Belle was mad, but she trusted her heart too much to ignore it.

                The next morning she glanced through the Storybrooke Mirror, a cup of tea in hand. She sipped delicately as her foot bobbed, reading up on the happenings of the town. An election would be held to determine the next mayor, a blurb on Anton the not-so-giant… Belle did a double take as she saw a picture of a familiar woman, having difficultly placing her until she realized she was missing her hat.

                “Long-time RN Goes Missing,” the headline declared. Belle started to get queasy as she read the paragraph or two on the incident. The nurse that had once tended to her when she was in the psychiatric ward and who had drugged her after the incident at the town line had disappeared without a trace. She had last been seen leaving the hospital after her shift the night before last. If anyone had any details concerning her they were to contact Emma Swan or David Nolan Charming.

                It could have been a dozen other people, Belle tried to reason. There was nothing that remotely suggested Mr. Gold’s involvement. Except for this was the nurse who, under Regina’s orders, had made sure no one knew about Belle. And the actual Mr. Gold would not be happy that said nurse had been keeping her sedated for as long as possible.

                Belle jumped as Ruby’s hand rested on her shoulder. The girl shot out an apology before glancing down at the paper.

“What are you reading that’s got you so worked up?” She wondered.

                Belle flipped the paper over, “Nothing.”

“Belle you’re shaking.”

                She glanced down to see her hand trembling despite resting on the table. She swallowed and closed her eyes. Ruby’s touch moved from her shoulder to her hand, holding it as she sat across from her.

“You can tell me anything,” she promised.

                Belle opened her eyes to see Ruby smiling reassuringly. For some stupid reason, Belle chose to trust her.

“I’m not sure that Rumplestiltskin is Rumplestiltskin.”

                Ruby’s forehead creased in confusion, “What do you mean?”

                Belle took a deep breath, “You know how some people can shapeshift?”

                Ruby’s eyes widened, “You think Cora’s Mr. Gold?”

“No, no, I mean…it’s hard to explain. Like he looks and acts like Rumplestiltskin…but there’s something wrong. It’s not him.”

                Ruby frowned, almost condescending when she asked, “You sure? I mean, maybe you just don’t think you know him, forgot a piece or two for the cup…”

“I know him better than anyone else in this town,” Belle insisted, “And I remember everything. It’s just not him.”

                The young werewolf frowned, “Maybe you’re finally getting to know the real him.”

                Ruby's last words ticked her off more than the gentle accusations that she wasn’t all there. What did _she_ know of Rumplestiltskin? Had she ever even dealt with him? Had she ever listened to him, or asked about him? Had she ever cared whether he was happy or sad? She had no right to say that Belle didn't know him.

                She had not lost her mind, she was positive of this now. The man was not Rumplestiltskin and she would find out who he was and where the real Rumplestiltskin had gone to.

                She thought nothing more about the morning until she heard a firetruck's siren go off around the time the man usually showed up at the library. Five seconds later, her cell phone rang and Ruby's number lit up on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Belle, it's your dad," she shot out, "You need to get to his shop right now."

                Belle hung up and started running towards "Game of Thorns".

                She saw the smoke long before she came to the street and she couldn't sprint fast enough, barely remembering to breathe. When "Game of Thorns" was in sight, it was engulfed in flames, firefighters trying to smother it before too much damage was done.

"Papa!" Belle screamed, moving through the crowd, "Papa!"

"Belle!"

                A lot had come between them. Her leaving to go with Rumplestiltskin to save her village, a willing captivity. His being blamed for her not-quite death. His trying to erase her memory by sending her across the town line because she had fallen in love with a monster. Her telling him that she never wanted to see him again. None of that mattered now as she latched herself on to him, his arms wrapping around her as if she were a child again. She sobbed her relief as he murmured reassuring things into her ear. Her cheek pressed into the side of his arm as he rocked her, kissing the top of her head.

                Belle's blood ran cold as she met the imposter's eyes, standing casually on the opposite curb. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, wagging a finger admonishingly as if she had been a naughty girl and was being punished accordingly. She made a strangled noise.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Moe asked.

"It's him…he did this…"

"Who did?"

                Moe pulled away from Belle and in the time it took him to turn around, the man had vanished. He turned back to her, and she thought her legs would give out from underneath her.

"Who, Belle?" He urged.

                Her mouth was too dry to speak.

                She stood with her father as the fire slowly died down, nauseous and dizzy. The malevolence of the stranger in Mr. Gold's suit had seemed distant until now, nonspecific and possibly nonexistent. Not only was he a real threat, he had no qualms about going after her loved ones.

"Well that just made the song ten times creepier."

                Belle and Moe turned towards Sheriff Swan, who waved them into the wreckage of the shop. She nodded towards one of the walls.

"Know anyone who's a big fan of The Police?" She asked, and Belle couldn't tell if Emma was serious or using dark humor.

                Scrawled in red ink (gods Belle hoped it was ink), a message had been painted.

" _Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you. Every single day, every word you say, every game you play, every night you stay, I'll be watching you._ "

**III**

                Belle didn't sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the fire engulfing her father’s shop, the smoke rising towards the sky. She should be grateful that her father wasn’t inside…but maybe that was just a slip-up on the imposter’s behalf.

                Who _was_ she dealing with?

                Sleep-deprived and running mostly on adrenaline and caffeine she passed by his shop the next afternoon. Pseudo Mr. Gold was there behind the desk, apparently transfixed by something. She continued on her way to Mr. Gold’s house, fighting the urge to glance back every step of the way. She felt the key he had given her weeks ago in her pocket and casually walked up to the front door. With one quick look over her shoulder, she entered the house.

                So little was out of place that Belle wondered if the imposter was even staying there. She hadn’t expected it to be a mess or find a note saying “you caught me, I’m not Mr. Gold, I’ll leave now”, but still… It seemed like a museum knowing its occupant wasn’t there.

                She moved through the parlor, and then the dining room, the kitchen, the numerous other rooms, before ascending to the second story. At each small noise, or every time she heard a car pass by on the road, Belle froze and cocked her head, ready to hear the front door open. Her mind raced with escape routes, should it come to that, as she scanned the other rooms. She saved the bedroom for last, a sense of sadness creeping in as she gazed upon the bed they had once shared.

                No matter how she scoured the room, there was nothing to be found that suggested anything out of the ordinary. Maybe she was seeing things…maybe she hadn’t truly seen Mr. Gold at the scene of the crime, or that his comments were no more sinister than others perceived. Was she really so sure that she wasn’t crazy, after all the hell she had gone through?

                She was about to leave when she remembered the shed in the back, a place of solitude where she had caught him practicing magic that predawn morning. She tiptoed out of the house and towards her destination, noticing that curtains had been hung in front of the windows. Her ball of nerves twisted as she failed to remember whether they had been there before or not.

                The shed was unlocked and she slipped inside, waiting a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark. There was all of his magical equipment, his spinning wheel left behind and a pile of unused straw nearby. The only sound was the hum of a refrigerator in the corner. She made her way towards it, grimacing as she stepped in a puddle and passed a pungent odor.

                Belle frowned. There was just a ton of meat in the fridge, no fruits or veggies or anything else. And there was a lot of it too, cut up into dinner portions and sealed airtight into bags. She was pretty sure Mr. Gold didn’t cure his own meat.

                The light of the fridge lit up a good portion of the shed and she glanced back. She saw her own footsteps outlined in liquid, leading away from the puddle. It was too dark to be water. She crouched down for closer inspection.

                Bile rose in her throat as she noticed the dark shade of red, the unmistakable smell of iron coming from it. Blood… she had stepped in a puddle of blood.

                Jarring the fridge open she approached the puddle, a bench covered in a painter’s sheet nearby. The pungent odor returned and Belle resisted the urge to gag. Her heart roared in her ears and she watched herself reaching masochistically towards the sheet, pulling it back.

                At first all she saw was the slightly disheveled mess of brown hair, identical to the nurse’s usual style. And then her eyes travelled downwards, taking in the mostly skeletal body. The majority of her flesh had been stripped from her bones, leaving blood spattered all over it and the bench and the floor. A cleaver was wedged between her ribs, as if someone had simply left it there to go tend to another matter.

                Belle covered her mouth, feeling as though something would come out. Scream or vomit, she wasn’t sure, but the former would do her no good. She had to get to the sheriff, discreetly take her here while the imposter was in the shop, show her that this was _clearly_ not Mr. Gold she had returned with…

                She turned to leave, only to see the imposter standing in the doorway, caneless and serious.

“I really must insist we have dinner together now,” he rumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember what I said about Ivelle last chapter? I lied; you wouldn't be drunk, you'd just like a one-sided abusive relationship. Flirty Ives is cute though, and I can't help but feel he's being a major troll with his games. I am really excited about the next chapter, though; even though I haven't beaten much around the bush, I still can't wait to cut the crap and watch Ives and Belle interact.


	3. Dinner With Ives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ives answers Belle's questions over a nice steak; the stakes are upped as Ives makes a request.

Nothing bound Belle to the chair; no magic, no ropes, only her fear of the repercussions if she ran. She stared from her seat at the dining room table towards the sliding glass door, nails digging into the arms of the chair.

                She could hear him moving around the kitchen, prepping this and that, an almost jovial air about him. He had abandoned the cane and with it the fake limp, his act dropped with her discovery of the nurse.

                Her stomach turned as she heard the hiss of meat hitting the skillet.

“How do you like your steak, my lamb?”

“Not human.”

                The man snickered as though it was a joke, “Now how do you know you won’t like it if you’ve never tried it?” He scolded playfully. Belle cringed and he glanced at her, frowning, “…don’t tell me you’re one of those vegetarian types,” he muttered.

“Who are you?” She murmured.

                He tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, “If you must call me something, I suppose Ives will do, though adding “colonel” would be a bit of a stretch in terms of identity…”

                Ives…it sounded like a hiss.

“How did you find out about Storybrooke?”

                He glanced at her, “It’s not as though it’s closed off from the world… Remote, yes, but not impermeable.”

                Ives lapsed into silence, concentrating on his cooking. He seemed undisturbed by the quiet, eyes focused on the task at hand with a predatory air, though that might have just been Belle’s projection manifesting itself. The minutes ticked by excruciatingly slow before he finally approached the table, setting a plate down in front of her. She fought the urge to gag.

                It looked no different than prime rib, but she knew better. It was a chunk of a person, a person she had _known_ nonetheless. He sat down across from her and Belle forced herself to pick up her fork, to pick at the stir-fried vegetables and ignore the steak at the center of her meal. He didn’t bother with hiding the fact he was watching her, curious eyes boring into her while she stared down at her food.

“It’s amazing what people discuss openly in public,” Ives finally remarked as he followed her lead, vegetables first, “If you care to listen you can hear entire sagas being recanted, the most personal details told in what they believe is confidence because they think no one’s listening…” He chewed thoughtfully on a bit of zucchini, “A young boy with his storybook going on about a cursed town full of fairy tale creatures.”

                Whatever pretense at eating Belle was attempting failed. The blood drained from her face as she stared openly at him. Ives continued unperturbed by her reaction.

“I couldn’t follow all of their conversation, but enough to get the gist of it. I didn’t doubt his words for a second,” he smirked, “After all, it’s not like I’m in a position to judge what is and isn’t beyond reality.”

                The fork rested forgotten in Belle’s hand, forcing herself to remember to breath. Ives didn’t need prompting to continue.

“He left the book behind, which I thought was odd since it was practically his Bible, but I thumbed through it anyway. Exquisite illustrations, superb prose… Felt like destiny,” he twirled his fork lazily, “I followed them around for a few days, trying to be a good Samaritan and give the young lad his book back. But they were busy trying to find your “Mr. Gold’s” son.” He shrugged one shoulder, “He’s a very habitual man, not personally known by anyone and separate from the rest of the town. Of course, it helps that I looked like him,” he picked up his knife, “I just had to wait for the opportunity to infiltrate.”

                He started in on his steak, not bothering to look down as he examined her, “You were supposed to be an amnesiac,” he commented.

“Sorry to put a wrench in the works,” Belle muttered.

                He snickered, “That’s alright, I’m perfectly capable of adjusting.”

                She didn’t want to watch him eat, but she couldn’t look away either, unable to wrap her mind around what he was doing. She had watched him take the meat from the fridge; she knew what it was… And yet he was so casual about it. As if he couldn’t fathom why she might be uncomfortable about the situation.

“Why are you here?” She murmured.

                He raised an eyebrow, “I thought it would be obvious…” He sighed, “My lifestyle’s become increasingly difficult with all of this… _DNA_ and _fingerprinting_. And yet here is an entire town that can’t be found on any map, with citizens not in any governmental database. Virtually invisible,” he chewed pointedly, watching her amusedly, “You have werewolves and Evil Queens and pirates, so _so_ many villains who could take the blame. Long as…“Mr. Gold”,” he air-quoted the name, “Keeps out of the thick of it, promising his son and girlfriend that he won’t use magic anymore… I could be here a very long time without anyone being the wiser.”

                Belle shook her head minutely, “You won’t get away with this.”

                Ives chuckled, “As many times as I’ve heard that, I still continue to. And this, my dear, is nowhere near the riskiest exploit I’ve ever undertaken,” he pointed at her plate, “Your dinner’s getting cold,” he warned.

                This was all some joke to him…some disgusting game he had played before. Belle slowly set her fork down, the question she didn’t want to know but needed to ask bubbling out.

“Did you?”

                He frowned, “Did I what?”

                It took all of Belle’s strength to ask without her voice shaking, “Did you kill Mr. Gold?”

                Ives considered the question for a moment, and then grinned perversely, “As a matter of fact…”

“No!” Belle snapped, the chair crashing to the floor as she got to her feet, grabbing her knife. He didn’t stir as she rounded the table, “No, you bastard!”

                The sequence of events following happened too fast for her to understand how exactly it had come about. In one moment she was storming towards him, ready to threaten or stab him or _something_ in retaliation. The next she was on her knees screaming at the pain in her shoulders, losing functionality of her arms as he held them back.

“I _tried_ to be a gentleman,” he hissed, “But I will not stand for being threatened.”

                Sobs choked out of Belle, able to feel but not command her arms. She hadn’t even seen him move. He had been sitting only an eyeblink ago…

“If you ask _nicely_ , I may pop your shoulders back into their sockets for you,” he growled.

“What are you?!” She screeched, twisting her head to look at him.

                He glared at her, “Did you even bother to _read_ that folklore book I checked out?” He muttered, only merely irritated by being threatened.

                He dropped her arms, which dangled painfully at her sides. She remained on her knees as she fought back tears. She would not cry in front of this madman. She would not break down in front of her true love’s murderer.

                Ives crouched down in front of her, gazing at her like a puppy that wasn’t sure what he had done wrong. She refused to meet his eyes.

“…I like you, Belle,” he said finally, “I really want this to work out. But you have to meet me halfway.”

“Doesn’t matter what you are there are stronger forces here. You can’t kill all of us,” she snarled.

                The corner of his mouth twitched into an unconscious smirk, “Are you going to try and tell on me again?” He sneered, “Allow me to remind you that you’re fresh out of the hospital for hallucinating…doesn’t matter if the visions were true or untrue. They saw how you behaved at the “welcome home” party towards your own boyfriend. They’re not going to believe a word you say. Even if you bring them to the body and I’ll add theirs to the pile.”

“What do you want from me?” She hissed.

                He studied her a moment, “…companionship,” he finally admitted, “It gets awfully lonely having to eat all of your acquaintances to cover your tracks. You’re the only relationship Mr. Gold has…had,” he corrected himself.

                Belle barely kept herself from spitting in his face.

                She sat pitifully on the floor as he waited. Then, when he deemed her settled enough, he popped her arms agonizingly back into place.

“Do you want me to warm your dinner up for you?” He offered.

                She stared at him disbelievingly, “…no,” she said slowly.

                He shrugged as if to say “alright”, “Hopefully next time you’ll be a bit more open. I suppose you’ll want this.”

                He opened a cabinet to take down the crack-lined chip cup, holding it out towards her. She snatched it from his hand, disgusted he had ever touched it.

“Go to hell,” she spat, the only words she could think of that came close to her actual feelings.

                Ives tilted his head, “You’d be surprised how often I get that.”

                She stormed home, emotions clashing against each other and threatening to overwhelm her at any moment. Somehow she managed to get to the library’s door, the only way to her apartment above it straight through it. She slowed down as she stood beside the shelf she had the day he had given this glorious place to her, the key in a little box with a bow tied around it. The key to her freedom. An acceptance of her independence. The first time in her life that someone had actually let her _be_ who she wanted to be.

                The sobs came as she pressed her back against the bookcase, sliding down it as she knotted her fingers in her hair. With no one to hear her she screamed, her body jerking from the violence of her wails.

                They had just started over…they had been working on their relationship, so close to getting it right until Hook caused her to cross the town line. Imagining what could have been was almost as painful as realizing all she had lost. Because of some psychopath that just so happened to have resembled him.

                She stayed where she had fallen the remainder of the night, crying off and on until morning light. Then, with shaky legs, she went back to the checked-in books that still needed to be shelved, pulling out the one on Native American folklore. There was a scrap of blank paper dropped into the crease of one entry, an Algonquian myth with a gruesome illustration.

                Wendigo. A flesh-eating man. Who gained supernatural abilities through his consumption of another’s life. The more he ate the more he desired to eat. That was what she was up against. That was the nature of this beast.

                She hadn’t wanted to confront him that day…hadn’t wanted to confront him at all if she could help it. But the scene that unfolded as she made her way back from the pharmacy changed her mind.

                She saw Henry Mills, the savior’s son and brave as his princely grandfather. She considered saying hello to him before she saw with whom he was talking to. The cane was back. The false mannerisms were back. His charade was continuing.

                Ives glanced briefly at Belle before turning back to the boy, “I don’t know if I have that in the main shop, Henry, but we could go check in the back if you like.”

                The light in his eyes would appear as friendliness. All Belle saw was malice.

                She crossed the street without paying attention to traffic, the pair starting to walk away when she caught up with them.

“No, Henry, don’t go with him!” She pleaded.

                Henry stopped and looked bewildered at her, “Why?”

                Belle ignored the question, immediately stepping in between the two, “You leave him alone,” she hissed at Ives through clenched teeth, “He’s a little boy, you leave him alone!”

“Dearie, I have no idea what you’re on about,” he said with a sly smile.

“You know exactly what I’m on about, you disgusting wendigo! Are there really no limits to your depravity?! Would you really eat a _child_?!”

                He set a hand on her shoulder restrainingly, “Calm down, Belle…people are staring.”

                Belle glanced around and saw that indeed he was right; people had stopped to watch her outburst, utterly confused as to what was going on. Ives glanced around her to the boy.

“You better go, Henry,” he said softly, “I don’t think Belle’s feeling too well.”

                Henry glanced worriedly at Belle before nodding, “See you later then, Mr. Gold,” he said before skipping off.

                The hand remained on her shoulder as Ives gently led Belle towards the pawnshop in Henry’s place.

“Good call,” he said under his breath as they crossed the threshold, “I just procured an authentic iron maiden that I have been _dying_ to try.”

“What kind of sick game are you playing?!” She snapped before she slammed the door behind her, the bell jangling in protest, “It’s one thing to go after adults but another thing entirely to kill mere _children_!”

“Really?” He asked softly, glancing at her as he moved behind the counter, “Is there a sliding scale on who deserves to die and who deserves to live?”

“You’ve got my attention, now what do you want? Another of your twisted dinners?!”

                Ives smirked, hooking his cane onto the counter’s top, “Who says I wanted anything from you? Maybe I felt like young boy after all this middle-age woman.” Belle opened her mouth but he cut her off, “You know what I learned about you from that storybook?”

                Belle’s mouth hesitated, before reforming into a question, “…what?”

“Your weakness,” he said smugly, “And the incident with the flower shop only confirmed it. You traded your life to save your father’s amongst others, once upon a time…”

                Ice ran down her spine, “…what are you getting at?” She breathed.

“A sick game, as you so eloquently insisted,” he leaned forward on the counter, “You are not to eat a single bite of food from this point forward until I give you permission,” he said gravely, nose wrinkling in distaste, “Your father’s not my usual type, but I would make an exception.”

                She stared at him, not willing to comprehend, “…you’d…?”

                Ives nodded, “Of course I would. You’d be the only one to mourn him, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait; I wanted this to come out perfectly. And, after three rewrites, I think it's decent enough to post. And what a perfect day to post it...


	4. First Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the face of the news of her true love's death and starvation to save her father, Belle starts to question what she has gained from her moral life. Ives reveals his intent for starving her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I already tagged it, but this chapter I mean it; it's about to get gory up in here. So beware.

Belle didn’t dare eat. Not in public, not in her apartment, not even a stolen bite while she pretended to cough. Her father’s life was too valuable to risk, and she was confident she could call Ives’ bluff. If he had wanted to kill her, he would have by now. Perhaps it was punishment; perhaps he was toying with her. Or perhaps it was something much worse.

                The first day was bad, but nothing she hadn’t endured. The second day was worse. By the third day she realized she had never truly starved before. Not during the Ogre’s War. Not during her stay in the Dark Castle. Not even when she was held captive by Regina. The pain was sharp, stabbing, constant. Drinking only worsened the pain, but she knew better than to let herself get dehydrated. She was tired all the time, and moody. The fridge was a temptation, walking by a restaurant or bakery agony.

                He had to be bluffing. Simply had to be.

                He returned to the library late that third day, appearing for the first time without witnesses present. For the first time Belle didn’t shy away from him.

“What do you want?” She muttered, continuing to scan barcodes to check books back in.

“To check on you,” he said innocently, merely holding the cane instead of leaning on it, “Some people don’t take to not eating very well.”

“Imagine that,” she grumbled and he tried his best not to grin.

                She finished the last of the books, leaving them on a trolley for later reshelving. She leaned on the counter, staring hard at him, “So you read or heard of this wendigo legend and decided to try it?”

                He chuckled, “Making a long story short, yes.”

“How long of a story could it be? You wanted power and you were willing to do whatever it took to gain it.”

                The humor vanished from his face.

“I wanted to be healthy,” he said slowly, “I wanted to live… Is that a sin?” He set his shoulders back indignantly, “Soldiers kill each other over things such as honor or glory… Are their intentions really nobler than mine? I desire life, and yet they’re ready to just throw it away.”

“Don’t try to justify your actions,” Belle hissed, “Murder is murder.”

“What do you think they do when the point their guns and shoot? Or are you suggesting ideals are above the lives of so many?”

“I’m suggesting that murder is wrong, no matter the intent.”

                Ives gave a chuckle that made her want to punch him.

“Your moral scope is astoundingly small… Then again, you are only a fairytale character. You come from a world of black and white,” he shrugged, “Perhaps you’ll change your tune once you spend a bit more time reflecting.”

                He turned to leave.

“Ives?”

                He paused, head cocked towards her voice.

“I just want you to know...that I despise you from the very depths of my being for what you’ve done, and that will never change.”

                Ives smirked, “My you’re crabby when you’re hungry.”

**III**

                By the time a week had passed, Belle was in a dark place. Close to chewing off her own arm but still unwilling to eat for fear of him (somehow) finding out, a constant depression threatened to squeeze the life out of her. Her true love was dead, remains gods knew where and no one aware of his passing but her. She convinced herself that it had been quick, painless. That he didn’t even have the chance to realize it before death was upon him. Maybe Ives had buried him; she was too afraid of the answer to ask.

                She had been a good girl her entire life and where had that gotten her? Affianced to someone she didn’t love, then taken captive and locked up for over thirty years when she attempted to show a beast she cared, then used as a damsel in distress or rejected if she tried to help. And then she was drugged up in the hospital because of her amnesia and her boyfriend was killed, after finally being reunited with his son… She had always believed that one reaped what they sowed, but maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe people just wronged or were wronged against.

                She wasn’t particularly surprised by the call; it was bound to come sooner or later.

“And how are we this evening, Miss Belle?” Ives asked jovially.

“Decent, all things considered. What do you want?”

                He ignored the bitterness in her tone, “Only to tell you that I have a present for you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she mumbled, pretty sure those were the exact words she would use if she knew what it was.

“I really should have. Why don’t you come over and I’ll show you,” he offered.

                She really didn’t want to go, but she doubted he would leave her alone until she had. She locked up the library and walked to the salmon-colored house, nearly exhausted just from that exertion. Perhaps he’d bribe her with food. Belle’s empty stomach clenched hopefully. She strolled inside without knocking and found him in the parlor, awaiting her. He smiled and beckoned her to follow him through the house and outside to the back yard.

                Her stomach clenched for a whole different reason as they came upon the shed. As if sensing her anxiety, he rested a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the door.

“Tell me, lamb, do you recognize this gentleman over here?” He asked, flicking on the dim light before closing the door behind them.

                A man was bound and gagged in a corner, tugging at the ropes ineffectually. Their blue eyes met and a hybrid of fear and loathing shot through her.

“…he goes by Hook,” she murmured softly.

                Ives’ eyebrows rose, “As in his prosthetic left hand… That’s not impressively clever,” he started over towards him, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but he’s the one who shot you over the line and caused you to lose your memories?”

                Hook glared at her venomously. She nodded.

“…it’s no reason to kill him, though,” she murmured.

                Ives smiled, “Who said _I_ was killing him?” He hauled Hook to his feet effortlessly, “He’s a gift. I can’t tell you what to do with him.”

                He forced Hook onto the table, face-up. He was beginning to redo the pirate’s restraints, tying him down to the table, “However, he _is_ the only opportunity you’ll have to eat.”

                And there was the sick catch to this game; he was trying to convert her to his twisted lifestyle.

“No,” she breathed.

                Ives sighed, drawing something out of his pocket.

“You remind me of a captain I ate once,” he remarked, examining Hook’s hook, “He too hid behind morality, stuck in the trappings of denial. But he succumbed… Everyone eventually succumbs.”

                He slipped the hook under the gag and pulled it down. Hook licked his lips, staring up at Ives.

“I don’t know what you’re going on about, crocodile, but that lass has no killer instinct.”

                Ives huffed, “Still on about this crocodile business? I already told you I’m not Rumplestiltskin… Fine, believe what you want.”

                He undid the lacings of Hook’s vest and brushed it aside, then pulled up his shirt to expose his stomach. The pervish pirate gave Ives a nervous glance and Belle felt nauseous.

“Don’t…” She said weakly.

                Ives studied Hook’s pale torso, finally pressing the point of his weapon into a spot an inch above his belly button. Hook bared his teeth and snarled as Ives sliced deep into his muscles, blood welling up as he dragged it down to his hips. Ives examined his handiwork, twisting the hook so it exaggerated the gap in the flesh.

“Not bad for seafood,” he quipped, drawing the hook up and inhaling.

                His eyes closed at the scent of blood, his lips quivering as if barely holding back from sucking on the steel. Hook’s eyes widened as if he now realized what he was dealing with. He turned to Belle pleadingly, but she was busy watching Ives.

                He opened his eyes again and strolled over to Belle, holding out the blood-stained hook like an offering. He held it beneath her nose benevolently. Belle had no choice but to breathe it in. She knew the scientific reasons for her reaction; blood was a signal of weakened prey, its metallic scent promising the iron her body needed. Still she was disgusted at her lack of disgust, at her stomach’s rumble that she was positive he could hear. Something wild filled the void of her emotions, a primal urge to attack where the blood had come from, to devour.

“You want to live,” Ives breathed, “I can see it in your eyes…”

                Of course she wanted to live. She had always wanted to live, no matter how much pain or sorrow she dealt with. Life was so, so precious.

                Her lips parted unconsciously as she stared down at the blood, still bright red and wet. The very symbol of vitality.

“Don’t think,” he urged, “Just. Give. In.”

                And so Belle drew the point into her mouth and suckled for all it was worth. It was salty and metallic as blood had always been, but to her starving self it tasted magnificent. Tears threatened her eyes as her stomach tensed, demanding more. She released the hook with a gasp and Ives stepped aside.

“Belle… Belle!” Hook screamed but she blocked him out, mesmerized by the crimson spilling across his skin. With a few quick steps she was on him, collapsing down and digging her mouth into his wound, feeling his scream of horror vibrate against her lips.

                Belle’s teeth were unaccustomed to the act of tearing flesh from a living breathing thing, but what she lacked in experience she made up for in desperation. She sawed and tugged until bits came off in her mouth and she gulped them down without bothering to chew. Her hands steadied the pirate, who was now in full-blown panic, but his howls might’ve been muzak in a grocery store for all of the mind she was paying him. All that mattered was eating, surviving, filling her gullet while she had the chance. She was vaguely aware of Ives holding back her hair, but what blood she didn’t get in her curls she got on her face, throat, and down the front of her.

                Slowly the feeding frenzy subsided and she pulled back away from what had started as a wound. She had devoured almost all of his abdominals, leaving vital organs glistening and pulsing underneath the strips she had missed. Hook himself had passed out, whether from blood loss, pain, or sheer horror she couldn’t tell. She drew back, trembling, something rising in her throat.

                Ives’ hand clamped down over her mouth and she squirmed.

“Throw it up and your father dies,” he hissed into her ear. She fought the rising in her stomach, but not her lungs.

                She let out a long terrified scream against the palm of his hand, her body convulsing but too horrified to cry. He braced himself around her, restraining her as she melted down at the fact that she had just eaten human flesh.

**III**

                Belle’s forehead rested against the side of the shower, its head beating on her for so long it had gone ice cold. She had scrubbed herself pink, but she knew the psychological bloodstains would never go away. She didn’t want to face the world. She didn’t want to face _him_. But goosebumps were breaking out and her lips were turning blue, so she forced herself to reemerge, toweling off in the guest bathroom upstairs. Her shirt and pants had been thrown into the fireplace; she imagined he was cleaning up the rest while she bathed.

                She tiptoed in her undergarments to Mr. Gold’s bedroom, nervous as if she’d walk in on him reading over some paperwork, or writing a list, or tucked under the covers fast asleep. But he’d never do those things again. He would never _be_ here again. She slipped on a pair of slacks and found a belt to keep them up, then opened his closet. The sight of all his pristine shirts, his lint-less jackets, lined up like a military regime and organized from black to white and then in the order of the color spectrum… Patterns at the end organized by their name in alphabetical order first, and then by their primary color. Her chin quivered and she glanced down at her bare feet.

“…are you disgusted by me?” She asked him, eyes watering, “At what I’ve done?” She wiped at her eyes, “I’m sorry… I was weak. I couldn’t stop myself and now…” She shook her head, glaring at the jackets, “You said you’d protect me… You told me you would protect me!” She wailed, but couldn’t summon the energy for a proper fit.

She had just gone through a mental breakdown; another would probably cause her to pass out from exhaustion. Instead, she weakly punched at his wardrobe and growled. It wasn’t really his fault for being dead anyway.

She picked out a purple shirt and slid it over her head, breathing in his smell. She’d have to be careful, find somewhere to store it so that she never lost his scent. It was all she had…well that and a broken heart and a chipped cup.

                She sensed Ives as she passed the parlor, or rather smelled the stench of his cigar smoke. He didn’t turn to her with a smart remark, didn’t snicker or smile. In fact, there was an odd sort of empathy etched into his features.

“Tell me,” he murmured, “What is it like to be the first successful female wendigo, to not kill yourself over what you’ve done and survive your darkest hour?”

                Belle grimaced, hating how he had pegged her so well, to know that she wouldn’t kill herself no matter how horrible her circumstances. Perhaps that was why he coaxed her to eat.

“Like watching your soul get ripped out of your body, knowing that you’ve lived long enough to become the beast instead of dying as a beauty,” she grumbled before leaving.

                Belle didn’t take note of the changes until the next day. She had had one meal after a week of nothing but water and yet she felt renewed, vital, energized. Her skin was clear and blemish-free, her hair impossibly neat. It was no mystery why she was suddenly vibrant, but she wished it was.

                As she tended to do when faced with something new, she researched it. She read all of the relevant books in the library and did careful internet searches (still every once in awhile she’d get an odd fetish website or attention-seekers insisting that they had partaken in human flesh). No one offered a cure other than death. No one offered coping mechanisms to something they didn’t believe existed.

                Her thoughts kept coming back to Hook, wondering what Ives had done about that. Had he killed him after all? Had he died just from what she had done? There was no way he could simply be stitched up after the damage she had created… He was likely to get infected.

                Belle closed the library for lunch and headed over to Mr. Gold’s, circling around immediately to the shed. She located the key under a rock and let herself inside.

                She saw instantly that he wasn’t dead, head whipping towards the door. He glared at her, baring his teeth, “You stay away from me, you hellbeast!”

                Belle ignored him, examining his situation. He was still tied down on the table, but a blanket covered his stomach. She lifted it and winced.

“I did quite a number on you last night, didn’t I?” She mused. His breathing sped up to compensate for the pain. She set it back down.

“I can finally see that you and Rumplestiltskin are made for each other,” he growled.

                She snickered, “Well thank you, even if it’s a little late. You see, you finally got your wish; Rumplestiltskin is dead.”

                Hook stared blankly at her, so she launched into an explanation as to how her current situation could be interpreted as his fault.

“You see, even though I spared your life, you shot me in the back and caused me to lose my memories… I thought pirates had a better sense of honor than that. Anyway, now no one believes me when I say that man who brought me here yesterday, who starved me so I would eat human flesh and join his twisted lifestyle, is not Mr. Gold. Because they think I’m missing a few memories still.”

                His eyebrows knit together, “That man…”

“Is a psycho called Ives that looks remarkably like Rumplestiltskin,” she glanced around and found what she had figured had to be in there, “I would apologize for what I did, but I’m not sorry. Not after you took advantage of my second chance.” She picked it up, “Now, I’ll show you mercy that you never showed to me. I won’t let you die from infection.”

                She turned around and he stared at the long knife in her hand.

“Belle,” he said, trying not to whimper.

                Belle approached him, her mind already made up. No begging would dissuade her.

“You don’t want to do this.”

“Actually, I do. I’ve just never acted on such impulses before.”

                She knew anatomy, but practicing it was a bit of a struggle. She had to wiggle between the ribs with the knife in order to find his heart, and fishing it out was a whole other matter. He roared in agony, which only made Belle more impatient. Finally she carved it out of his chest and began devouring it, content with knowing the last image Captain Hook would ever see was her snacking on his heart like a candy apple.

                Ives had anticipated that Belle would eventually return to finish the Hook fellow off, if only due to her sense of compassion. But so soon, and to go straight for the heart? She had adapted quicker than he imagined.

                He exhaled slowly, a stream of smoke against the pane of the sliding glass door. Maybe she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and her code of ethics had been the only thing holding her back. He hoped so; he had never had a true partner in crime before.

                Belle ate her fill, completely unaware of her audience. She wasn’t sure what to do with the body and eventually decided to leave it up to Ives when he saw it. She felt guiltily little remorse for the murder; it was necessary for the plan to accomplish her vendetta. She left her bloody clothes in a heap, showered, and dressed in another outfit of Rum’s.

There was a new alertness to her being, sensitive to every sensation. It was like a caffeine high, only better. This must be what power felt like, she realized as she walked out the door, distracted constantly by all the smells and sounds she hadn’t noticed as a normal human being.

Unfortunately, she was so distracted she almost literally ran into Sheriff Swan. Her heart pounded as Emma smiled.

“Hey, Belle, I was just trying to track you down. When you weren’t the library I figured you’d be at your beau’s.”

                Belle tried to act casual, “Hey Emma, what’s up?”

                Besides the fact she had just devoured a good chunk of a person raw.

“We’re narrowing down the suspects-“

“Suspects?” Belle squeaked.

                Emma’s forehead creased, “Yeah…for the arson.”

                Relief washed over her and she bit back a hysterical laugh of relief. “Oh, of course, right,” she nodded.

                Emma shrugged, “Your dad doesn’t have too many enemies… It was probably one of your boyfriend’s trying to get back at him without, yanno, actually _facing_ him. This narrows it down to…” She considered for a moment, “…the whole town. But don’t worry, we’ll catch this 80’s…Pop…Flower-Hating…guy. Or girl.”

“I’m not worried,” Belle assured her. And honestly she wasn’t.

                She knew who had done it and he’d pay for it, just like for every other crime he had committed since.


	5. Suspicious Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina starts to suspect that Belle's odd behavior is linked to the missing persons case, and convinces Emma to check up on the librarian.

                The residents of Storybrooke noticed a change come over Belle, nothing particularly bad but unsettling all the same. She was no longer bubbly or particularly outgoing; smiling and chatting but no longer initiating contact. She had the look of someone in on an inside joke, as though she’d burst out laughing if a certain phrase was said. Her contemplative expression as she passed through town had lost its edge of curiosity, making her seem entirely too grave. There were no more pastels in her wardrobe; all dark colors, if she changed it up from her new favorite black. She moved not like an eager young lady full of innocence and optimism, but a sleek confident woman going in for a kill.

                The reason for the change was hotly debated, varying from her treatment by Hook and Regina to the amnesia incident to her easily apparent issues with her boyfriend. However, no one was stupid enough to say she was the same girl, whether they thought it was for better or worse. Regina Mills knew it was for worse.

                It had started a couple of months ago, a few weeks after Rumplestiltskin’s return. She had easily shrugged off the feeling that she was being watched; she had been positive it had been paranoia, a common symptom of being a villain. But then she started to see the face of her pursuer. A pair of blue eyes in the mirror a second before Regina spun around. Dark clothes against pale skin as Regina slammed on the brakes, only to see there was no one on the road that she was sure she’d run over. Long dark curls at the foot of her bed, the shadow vanishing as Regina turned on her bedside lamp. By the time she had figured out the face she kept seeing (within the past week), Belle had become even more blatant. The hair on the back of her neck would rise and she’d turn to see Belle openly watching her, staring unselfconsciously at the woman who had locked her up for over three decades. It terrified Regina to leave her house.

                But she hadn’t perfected the art of summoning groceries accurately, and her mother had yet to grasp many of this world’s concepts, such as the differences between brands and the “magic” of scanning barcodes. So she had ventured out for the essentials, barely keeping herself from glancing back every few seconds to check and make sure her stalker wasn’t there.

                She was heading back to her car when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

_“Down the street I'm the girl next door, I'm the fox you've been waiting for.”_ The store’s muzak murmured.

She glanced to see baby blue eyes studying her near the soda machines, black trench coat wrapped tightly around her and a lit cigarette between her fingers. Regina wondered when she had started that habit.

_“Hello Daddy, hello Mom, I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb. Hello world I'm your wild girl, I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb.”_

“Do you need some help, Mayor Mills?” She asked coolly.

“No thank you, I’ve got it,” Regina flashed her a “I’m fine” smile and continued towards her car.

                Another pair of heels echoed Regina’s steps. It took all of her willpower to keep going, pretending to see Belle only after she had popped her trunk open. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly and Belle shrugged, flicking the ash off the tip of her cigarette.

“I know you have your magic and all, but it’s dangerous for people to be alone with all of these disappearances,” she insisted.

                Regina scoffed, “Well, whatever’s responsible for all this I can handle.”

                She paused mid-lift, catching Belle’s expression. It was humorous, as if a “really?” would slip out of her before she started laughing. Instead, Belle took a long drag of her cigarette, holding the smoke in her lungs before exhaling it in a measured stream.

“Captain Hook is missing. The nurse you had watching over my stay in the asylum is missing,” she shook her head sadly, “For whatever reason, if you think you’re immune you’re wrong. Villains are dropping just like civilians, and if we don’t know what beast we’re facing… How can you be sure magic will save you?” Regina stared at Belle, gooseflesh rising all over her body and a queasy feeling in her stomach. She was on the edge of a conclusion, but she hadn’t quite formed it yet.

                The cigarette had been a good idea. Belle loathed everything about smoking, but it distracted her from the constant hunger pangs that were only satisfied with one particular dish. She and Ives had shared a meal only a couple days back, but Regina’s pounding heartbeat and white-rimmed eyes brought desire surging through her.

                Only a few days after Hook’s death, Belle had discovered a hidden desire within her mind. Regina had been walking by in her usual low cut blouse and Belle found herself staring at her exposed flesh. Her mouth watered as she noticed how soft it seemed, but there was an underlying strength beneath the skin as well. Tender yet tough. She longed to sink her teeth into it.

                She fantasized about Regina’s death, a drawn-out torture that would start with stalking her like prey, working Regina into a paranoid frenzy. Rumple probably had something to nullify magic; she could lure the former queen to her place, shackle her to the bed like she had done to Belle in the palace’s tower. Something would have to be done about sound-proofing; she wanted to listen to Regina’s screams while she ate her alive without drawing attention. She would drag Regina’s death out, eating her a few bites at a time, listen to her sobbing and pleading while she felt the intoxication of fulfilling vengeance.

                The sane part of Belle was horrified by the fantasy, but the new wendigo side shut her back up into the little box she had designated “do not open until Rumplestiltskin is avenged”. She needed insanity to complete this venture and would not be tripped up by morality.

“There you are dearie. I thought you were still in the store.”

                Belle was yanked out of the moment by the voice, and fought back a sneer. It was like being called away after working up for a good jerk-off. Ives’ arm snaked around her waist, looking affectionate but she knew that really it was to hold her back. She fought off the urge to roll her eyes.

“I was just escorting Regina to her car,” she told him, dropping her cigarette and crushing it out under her heel.

“Yes, yes I’m sure,” he murmured and from Regina’s startled expression Belle knew she hadn’t imagined the sharp edge to his voice, “Now that she’s almost done loading we should leave her be. Can’t have her ice cream melting on account of us,” he joked. Regina managed a smile and Belle smirked.

“No, I guess not. Have a good night, Regina.”

“You too,” she said mechanically, slamming her trunk down. Ives turned them around, fingers digging into Belle’s side as they walked away.

                Belle couldn’t help but snicker once they were a safe distance away.

“You really thought I was going to kill her, didn’t you?” She asked incredulously.

“I would hope you’d have the sense not to,” he hissed, “But I have yet to see the bounds of what you’d do to spite me.”

“It was only cannibalistic window shopping,” Belle insisted, “A little fun… It doesn’t hurt to dream.”

“It does when you have no self-control.”

“I am _completely_ in control of my urges.”

“See? That attitude is why I have to babysit you,” he sighed, “We’ve been over this. No high profile kills.”

“I know that! Just because I’ve only been doing this a few months it doesn’t mean I’m still a stereotypical fledgling.”

“And yet arrogance is a hallmark of a stereotypical fledgling. You’ve never even disposed of a body before.”

                She twisted out of his grip and he glared at her. She glared right back. Ives frowned, “You really have no reason to hate me as strongly as you do.”

                Belle burst out into incredulous laughter, “Really? Did you really just say that?! The man who starved me to turn me into a _monster_?”

“You made the choice-“

“What choice did I have?! Eat a man, starve to death, or let my father die?!”

“Keep your voice down.”

“I was fine before you came into my life!” She protested.

                Ives couldn’t help but smirk, “Were you?”

                Belle hesitated too long to be convincing, so instead she stormed off.

                Emma Swan had been spending most of her nights lately sleepless, staring at the ever-growing list of the missing (hard to confirm any of them dead when not a single body had shown up). Storybrooke wasn’t in a full state of panic yet, but they were definitely starting to notice. It helped that a good part of these people weren’t missed.

                It sort of worried her that Hook was there…not that she liked the guy, but he was a lot more noticeable than the others. That and the fact a good percentage of the missing were from his crew…

                Now she had to follow up on Belle because Regina insisted she was acting weird. Of course the chick was acting weird; after all she’d been through it would be weird for her not to act weird.

                Emma entered the library and Belle poked her head out from between a row of shelves, “Hey Emma.”

“Hey Belle.” Yes, this was beyond ridiculous.

                She shoved her hands in her pockets and strolled towards the brunette.

“Listen, you and I both know that this is stupid, but you know Regina,” Emma rolled her eyes.

                Belle frowned, sliding the book in her hand into its proper place, “What is it?”

                Emma pulled out a search warrant, unfolding it and showing it to Belle, “She thinks you have something to do with the disappearances.”

                Belle snickered, “You’re joking.”

“I wish,” she muttered.

                Belle shook her head in disbelief, “There’s no way I could have. I’ve been home every night or with Mr. Gold, running errands in broad daylight. Maybe not air-tight alibis, but I’m certainly not off kidnapping people.”

“I know, I know, but this is Regina. She won’t get off my case until I do what she wants,” she motioned to the entirety of the building, “So, show me around.”

                Belle hesitated but soon caved in, opening whatever storage room or closet Emma wanted to see and answering her questions. Obviously there was nothing in the library except a ton of books. She pointed out the nooks and crannies and storage areas, and yet Emma didn’t see any bloody cleavers or dismembered limbs. She seemed a bit more reluctant to show her the apartment, but Emma could understand the desire for privacy.

                Belle’s place was tidy, simple but home-y. She had a few decorations, a ton of books, and a couple of pictures strewn about. Emma picked one up off the table with a web of broken glass over it. The pair was still visible; Belle beaming and Mr. Gold giving his reserved version of a smile, arms protectively curled around his woman. She glanced at the real Belle, who was staring at the picture frame with the intense sadness of regret and loss.

“Get in a fight?” Emma asked softly.

                Belle shook her head, “I was… I was angry at him,” she mumbled, “Can’t bring myself to replace the frame.”

“A memento from him?”

                Belle nodded and Emma was terrified she’d start crying. Luckily, she didn’t, and Emma set the picture back down.

“I was actually about to have lunch, if you wanted to join me,” Belle offered.

“Sure, what’s on the menu?”

“Oh, you know, whatever’s on hand.”

                On hand was apparently some meat she had defrosting in the refrigerator and various vegetables, including a couple heads of lettuce. Emma glanced around while Belle chopped up a salad, the rhythmic thud of knife against cutting board kind of soothing.

“You’re teaching yourself how to cook?” Emma asked.

                Belle followed her gaze to the new collection of cookbooks near the spice rack. She shrugged, “I knew how to cook before… The basics, anyway. I’ve just found a renewed interest in it.”

“Good for you,” Emma muttered, leaning back in her chair and continuing her survey of the kitchen, “If it doesn’t come in a box don’t ask me to make it.” Belle giggled and Emma smirked, secretly proud of the fact she made a joke someone else thought was humorous.

                Her eyes landed on a calendar, the sort that showed all of the months at once. Small check marks appeared on specific days; some in red, some in blue. They were only in the months since her return to Storybrooke from the grand Nealfire adventure… Scratch that, since the disappearances started. Emma didn’t have the dates on hand but it looked like they coincided roughly around the time each person vanished.

“What’s up with the checkmarks?” She asked casually. Belle looked startled, frightened even…and then she went bright red.

“It’s nothing.”

“Bull crap. What are the checkmarks for?”

                Belle fidgeted guiltily, biting her lip.

“I…I’ve been keeping up with the missing persons,” she confessed, “I thought maybe... I could find a pattern or something… It sounds ridiculous out loud-“

“No, it’s fine,” Emma assured her, “Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys stuff, I get it,” she sighed, “Fact is with all of these villains it’s hard to point a finger at just anyone. We could use all the help we can get.”

                Belle nodded solemnly, turning back to her prep work, “Do you want bits of steak on top of yours as well?”

“Sure, thanks.”

                The investigation dissolved into a social visit, and the purpose of Emma’s presence was forgotten as she complimented the meat.

                Belle waited until she heard the library door shut before she allowed herself to grin, reaching for her cell phone and pressing speed dial. Hardly a full ring sounded before the other line was picked up.

“I think you need to go home and change,” Belle giggle, “You must’ve shit yourself when I took Emma up to my apartment.”

“This isn’t a game, Belle,” Ives snarled.

“Of course it’s a game, _life_ is a game. And just because you’ve played it longer it doesn’t mean I can’t play it just as well.”

                There was a pause at the other end of the line. Belle prepared her counter statement.

“You’re right,” he surrendered, “Of course you’re not stupid enough to kill the sheriff when she would’ve last been seen going into the library.”

                She liked it better when Ives argued with her. When he agreed it was much harder to insist that he was in the wrong.

“You don’t have to do this,” he insisted softly and Belle wondered for a moment if he somehow knew about her plan, “It’s over. There’s no going back to the weak little girl you once were. Continuing to reject me will not bring you satisfaction.”

“And embracing my lover’s killer will?” Ives started to speak but she cut him off, “You want to continue this pseudo boyfriend/girlfriend act? Fine, but you will never have my heart.” She hung up on him and hissed through her teeth. He couldn’t just acknowledge her intelligence and leave it at that, could he?

                She glanced at her refrigerator and reminded herself that she needed to bring up some more meat. Of course she had used cow for the steak bits (she’d never force _that_ choice onto anyone, especially if they were unwitting) but her own hunger was rearing its ugly head. She glanced at the calendar. The blue check marks were nearly double that of the red ones but she was still catching up on what, a hundred, two hundred years of consumption? Even so, in her private studies it seemed like short-term quantity outweighed long-term quantity… Tolerance and plateau-ing physical performance and all that jazz.

Assured she had waited long enough, she went down into the library and opened up the elevator. Mr. Gold had altered it so that it was no longer a two-person operation, a gift that had turned into more than he could have imagined. She rode it down into the infamous Storybrooke network of mines, where a dragon had once been dwelling. It was cool to the point of chilly, the sort of place that would have been ideal for food storage before they came to the land of electricity. She checked on the acid bath; the former corpse was just about disintegrated. She then uncovered her latest kill, picked up her cleaver, and went about hacking off some more steaks.

Belle wasn’t sure which had come first; was her apathy a product of grief and enabled her cannibalism, or had her first act of cannibalism created apathy so that she may continue to kill? Ives had never seemed to have a problem eating strangers, so he had no answer to her chicken-or-the-egg question. Either way, what was left of her humanity was slightly disturbed at how quickly she had become an adept serial killer.

She had her rules, of course. No friends, and only occasionally acquaintances. Most would be strangers, unconnected to her and preferably of the villainous persuasion. Almost Hook’s entire crew had been picked off, no witnesses and no clue as to who was after them. It was gluttonous the rate she was going through the laymen, but wasn’t that the point?

She sighed, setting aside the cuts of meat. It was sad that only now, post-humorously, she understood Rumplestiltskin’s battle with his beastly nature. It was nice, to go on whatever whim you had, knowing without a doubt that you had more power and that _they_ should be scared of _you_. She wouldn’t be happy to give it up, but she didn’t see herself eating people for the rest of her unnatural life either.

This kill was going stale, though, and she had a schedule to keep. Even with flesh still on his body, Belle set him into the pool of acid, taking the steaks back up with her in a grocery bag. She had once looked down upon Regina for being obsessed with revenge… Now she empathized with the scorned woman.

**III**

                Ives knocked softly at the sheriff’s door and Emma Swan glanced up, cheeks puffy with bear claw. She waved him in while she chewed and swallowed, and Ives hobbled to the chair.

                Acting had always been a strength of Ives’s, ever since he was a child. Necessity and practice had made him damn near perfect, able to mimic a role as if he had been that way his entire life. That aside, Mr. Gold wasn’t a particularly hard man to impersonate, a lot like Ives in some ways. Even though the limp was annoying, and he mourned the loss of his moustache. Still, he hadn’t roused a bit of suspicion despite a dozen or so deaths, and he had fathered the first successful female wendigo.

                Even though she was a pain in the ass, and stuck on the fact he had killed her beau. Time would calm her down, he was sure. Time healed all wounds, and scars did not hurt unless they were reopened. He’d tell her the truth once she settled.

“You wanted to see me, Miss Swan?” He asked, and the blonde set her donut down.

“Yeah.” She hesitated, clearly not sure how to continue, “I know we’ve never been on the best terms, but a helluva lot of people are going missing without a trace,” she met his eyes, “If you know something, anything, I need you to tell me. Just ignore everything else except that there are grieving families looking for a loved one, and we’re trying to give them some resolution.”

                He wondered idly if that would have affected Mr. Gold.

                He smirked, “For once, I am out of the loop. I don’t have the faintest idea who is behind the disappearances, or where these people have gone to.”

“You’re lying.”

                Ives was nearly startled out of his mask. He hadn’t been caught in a lie for decades and yet this greenhorn had called him out as casually as an attempt made by a seven-year-old. Emma continued watching him patiently, not realizing her accomplishment.

“Listen, Regina’s setting her sights on Belle and no matter how ludicrous it is, your girl’s under fire. I suggest you give me what you can before I have to officially list her as a suspect.”

                Of course. His little apprentice was drawing attention to herself with her stunts, just as he knew she would. Under control his ass.

                Ives sighed, “May I see a list of the missing? It may jog my memory.” Or tell him if there were any kills they hadn’t noticed yet. Emma, poor policewoman she was, handed it over.

                His eyes widened before he could stop himself, staring at the expansive list. There were at least twice as many as he knew he had killed, if not more.

“We haven’t put all of the victims in the paper,” Emma explained, reading his expression as one of disbelief, “Don’t want mass hysteria… Anyway a good chunk of them are people no one cares about; pirates, thieves, et cetera. Sounds almost like some kind of morbid vigilante justice.”

                Ives swallowed roughly. It could have been a copycat, but he doubted it. He had a strong suspicion it was an angry brunette who was too greedy to accept only their once-a-week dinners together.

                That little cunt.


	6. Medieval Roulette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tenuous relationship between Belle and Ives reaches its breaking point; Regina discovers the truth about Belle.

“Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you. Yes, I’m stuck in the middle with you, and I’m wond’rin’ what it is I should do,” Belle sang softly along with the radio, tossing in the chopped-up human to the pot of chili she was cooking. She had let herself into the house early, wanting to surprise Ives. Usually he cooked but she figured buttering him up wouldn’t hurt.

                Her singing faded into humming as it moved into the second chorus and she ceased to remember the actual words. The front door opened and slammed shut, bringing with it Ives’ scent. She blinked and he was right there, glowering at her.

“Welcome home, dearest,” she cooed, not looking up from her task.

“Nearly two dozen kills in three _months_?!” He hissed.

                Belle met his eyes and smirked, “I was hungry.”

                He caught her and spun her around, bending her over the oven. She stared at the burning stove top, wishing now she hadn’t turned on two of them.

“Your carelessness will get us both caught!”

“You think I give a damn whether I’m caught or not?! At least I’d be put out of my misery!”

“Have you forgotten why you’re in this charade?!”

“How could I forget, you remind me of my father every time I start to show a little independence!”

                He pressed her further down, her cheek one twitch away from touching the rings of heat.

“Don’t do it again!”

“Don’t do what?!”

“Kill of your own initiative!”

“You can’t control me!”

                It was the wrong thing to say with his hand fisted in her hair. She screamed as the hot metal burned her skin, writhing in an effort to break free.

“Say it!”

“I won’t, I won’t kill!”

                He pulled her back up and Belle’s eyes stung. She could feel each half-circle imprint that the brief contact had branded into her, still hot from the touch. Ives glared at her, then at the chili.

“You’ll want to turn the heat down; much too hot for a simmer,” he muttered before departing to the dining room.

                Dinner was a quiet affair and Belle eagerly ate, the marks vanishing within the first few bites. Regeneration did not excuse his behavior, but at least she wouldn’t have to deal with burn marks for a week or two. Resentment returned as she realized “independent hunting” was now blacklisted. This meant that she couldn’t hold off on the plan any longer; she’d have to move into the final phase sooner than she hoped to have to.

                The silence wasn’t broken until they had moved to the living room for some after dinner drinks; red wine and rum.

“Have you ever read Anne Rice?” Belle suddenly queried. Ives was drawn out of his thoughts, glancing at Belle.

“Never could get into it; Louis was a bit of a whiner. Why?”

“Just pinned you as a Lestat fan,” she said, sipping at her drink, “His relationship with Claudia… I think you’d find it insightful.”

“Really?” He swished his wine around in its glass, “I’ll have to retry it, in that case.”

                If he was Lestat than she was definitely Claudia, childish temper tantrums and all. She jus hoped their endings were different than those of their vampiric counterparts.

                She couldn’t blame the wine for his words; she knew he had a high alcohol tolerance. She could only blame it on him being entirely too comfortable with her, or maybe he was just looking for an especially painful jab in retaliation for her insubordination.

“He took you from your family… Locked you in a dungeon… Kept you as a prisoner until he cast you aside… And yet you profess that you love him,” he murmured, staring thoughtfully into space, “Have you ever considered that your feelings for Rumplestiltskin were just symptoms of Stockholm syndrome?”

                Belle calmly rose to her feet, crossed the short distance between them, and hurled her glass of rum at his face. It shattered, alcohol drenching him. She stormed away and he raised a hand to wipe a shard of glass from his brow, making no other movement and saying not a word to her.

                She stormed very purposefully through the neighborhoods, not speeding up despite her fury, towards the Mills household.

**III**

                Regina woke to the sound of screaming. That alone should have been cause for concern but the moment she realized who was screaming, it was that much more terrifying. Regina had never heard it before but recognized it instantly. She leapt from her bed, running down the hall.

“Mother… Mother!”

                She threw open the guest room door and there Cora was, sitting upright and staring at her forearm in horror. A giant chunk of her flesh had been cut out, almost her entire bicep. There was something almost like fear in her gaze as she turned to Regina.

                The answer came to Regina with a bout of nausea and she ran. She ran in her nightclothes down the streets to the library, throwing the doors open and charging up to the apartment, which she barged into.

                Belle glanced up from where she sat at the table, a book in one hand and a fork in the other. She sighed and set the book down.

“If I knew I was going to have company, I would have made more.”

                Regina stared down at Belle’s plate. There was nothing on it but a large steak cut up into bite-sized pieces. Regina covered her mouth to keep from gagging. Belle speared a piece and waved it towards her.

“I can share,” she teased.

“That’s my mother, isn’t it? You took her flesh and now you’re eating it!” She screeched.

                Belle arched an eyebrow, “It’s a bit early for conspiracy theories, isn’t it?”

“This is what you’re doing… All of those missing people, you’re eating them!”

“Regina, do you have any idea how insane you sound right now?” Belle slid her bookmark into place and set her novel down. She ate the bite and shrugged, “Prime rib’s just the breakfast of champions, that’s all.”

“You’re sick!” Regina snapped, chin trembling as tears rolled down her face.

                Belle stared at Regina, then nodded, “Yes, yes I am, but I will get better after I kill the man you think is Mr. Gold.”

                She had lost her mind. The former sweet-hearted maid had turned into some insane cannibalistic serial killer. It must have started that day she didn’t recognize her own true love…then slowly went downhill with the destruction of her father’s flower shop and Mr. Gold’s insistence of their relationship.

                Regina’s lips curled back defensively, “You leave my mother out of this; the fight is between you and me.”

“How uncharacteristically noble of you,” Belle took another bite, “Believe it or not this isn’t about you… not this time.”

                Belle had scarcely begun her breakfast but already Cora’s vitality hammered through her veins, power simmering just underneath her skin. She had been right; Cora’s flesh was the extra “umph” she needed.

                Regina stared at her a moment longer, then turned and fled as suddenly as she had come. Belle went back to her meal, not too concerned about what Regina may or may not do. Even with Cora’s wound it was an unbelievable story…just like a wendigo pretending to be Mr. Gold.

                The day passed slowly, Belle restless but knowing she’d have to wait until it was close to the end of the pawnshop’s business hours. She spent it reading up on fighting techniques and mentally preparing herself for what was going to happen.

                Finally, the sun set, and if she left she’d catch him shutting down. She shrugged on one of Mr. Gold’s suit jackets over her t-shirt and the satin lining felt as though he were right there with her, holding her close. She slipped their chipped cup into one pocket, and her weapon into the other. She kissed the tips of her fingers and then pressed them to the Mr. Gold smiling from a broken frame.

                No matter what happened tonight, whether she succeeded or died trying, at least she’d find peace.

                She locked up the library and then made her way through downtown Storybrooke, hair tied back, stiletto boots clicking rhythmically as she stared straight ahead. Her thumb caressed the porcelain of their cup and she found the strength and courage in the feel to go do what she had to. Deep down she knew it wasn’t just a matter of revenge; murder was the only way to stop the “mysterious” disappearances.

                Ives was still in the shop, his back to Belle as he stood downwind.

“I’m afraid I’m getting ready to close-“

                He rocked forward as the bullet pierced his shoulder and Belle cursed. Of course; even if she was a wendigo her aim was still crap. Ives wheeled around, the smoking gun in her hand. She met his gaze and her lips curled back in a defiant snarl. Ives charged.

                Belle shot him again in the chest, though she still missed his heart. He tackled her into a display case, shattered glass raining down over the pair of them. She dropped the gun and fumbled to try and find it but Ives’ hands were at her throat, literally crushing her windpipe. She hooked a leg around him and forced him to roll over onto his back, grappling for any weapon now. She fingered a shard of glass and slashed at his throat, forcing him to release her as she scrambled back.

                She wasn’t sure whose blood it was, hers or Ives’s, but the scent of it spurred her killing instincts. She was screeching at him in primal fury, nails tearing at his skin, fists beating against him or whatever nearby object she could grab. He kept trying to get in one good hit; a punch to the solar plexus, smashing her head against the ground. She took them as best as she could, but even with Cora in her veins she was fading. _Get to the back room,_ the last bit of conscious planning begged, _get to the back room!_ Belle stumbled to her feet and retreated.

                Ives surged after her like a wounded bull, intent on the kill. He had tried…he really had… But this had gone too far. He would not tolerate her assassination attempt. He brushed the curtain aside and stared.

                The iron maiden he had procured was ajar, with Belle resting carefully against the tips of the spikes. He stared in disbelief at her stupidity…and then laughed as he realized what her plan was.

“You want to play chicken? Against me?”

                Belle shrugged, “I’m too tired to keep fighting. It’s a quick resolution; one of us crushes the other. The question is, who will move faster?”

                She stared at him, the poster child of senseless bravado. What a waste… Well, at least he wouldn’t waste her tender flesh.

                Belle’s heart hammered in her chest as she watched Ives debate her proposal. It was a giant gamble, but gambling was all she had on her side with someone so powerful and manipulative. The human part of her, the Belle she had been before all of this, hoped that it wouldn’t hurt too much.

                Without warning, Ives charged.

                Belle darted to the side, clipping Ives as she passed. Ives tried to stop his momentum, or at least change direction, but Belle kicked him towards the iron maiden. She grabbed the lid and slammed it over him as hard as she could, throwing her weight into it. There was squelching, cracking, and a wet gasp. A river of blood leaked out, pooling by her feet.

                She threw herself again and again at the lid, continuing to hear the squelching and cracking. It wasn’t because she believed he was dead that she stopped, but because she was exhausted. She took a shaky breath, pressing her forehead against it.

“Who’s the arrogant one now?” She muttered tiredly.

                She opened the iron maiden, surprised to see him actually dead. She stared at him for a moment or two, expecting him to reanimate and kill her, but he was still. And the spikes left a perfect gash to dig his heart out from.

                Halfway through her meal, Belle started to cry, relieved that this nightmare was over…but knowing it wouldn’t change the fact that her true love was gone.

**III**

                Emma made her way to Mr. Gold’s pawnshop the next morning, to try and persuade him _again_ to help with the missing persons debacle. Regina had just about lost her mind, accusing Belle of taking a chunk out of Cora for breakfast, and that could only mean trouble for everyone. The shades were still drawn shut, the sign saying “closed” but the door unlocked. The bell tinkled ominously as Emma stared at the destroyed glass case, the knocked-over dresser, a discarded gun and blood spattered everywhere. When had this happened and why had no one called it in?

“Mr. Gold?!”

“He’s not here,” Belle’s clear voice came from the back, “He hasn’t been here since before you left to find his son.”

                Emma picked her way through the destruction to the curtain, pulling it back to find Mr. Gold’s mangled corpse demolished inside an iron maiden. She stumbled back against the door frame, not sure if she wanted to puke or scream.

“That’s Ives,” Belle said mildly, “He’s been impersonating Mr. Gold for months, but I couldn’t say anything because he’d kill my father. You remember the incident with the flower shop, of course. That was him.”

                Emma turned to see Belle sitting on the floor, hair falling around her face, one of Mr. Gold’s jackets around her shoulders. She seemed to have been gnawing at something but stopped when Emma came in. She looked like a small child waiting for her parents to come pick her up.

“Belle! Who did this, did you see them?!”

                Belle lifted her bright blue eyes towards the sheriff, and Emma saw her face covered in blood. She glanced down at her hands to see Mr. Gold’s true love had been gnawing on one of his severed fingers.

                Belle’s chin quivered, “You’re going to lock me away now, aren’t you?” She whimpered softly, “I suppose it’s for the best…and I _have_ done some horrible…horrible things.”

                Emma was torn between immediately forcing her to the ground and cuffing her, incapacitating the threat as soon as possible…and staying as far away from the monster as possible, maybe going home to barricade herself and her family from the menace. Regina was right after all; sweet innocent Belle had gone off the deep end.


	7. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months after Belle's final stand, a loose end shows up.

**Two Months Later**

Dr. Archibald Hopper glanced up from his patient file as Emma sank down on the opposite side of the booth, already looking tired.

“Hey Archie.”

“Hello Emma.”

“How’s our little Hannibal doing?” She murmured dryly, resting her arms on the table, “Bitten off anyone’s face yet?”

                Archie knew it was a coping mechanism, Emma’s dark humor, but it still irritated him the way she spoke of Belle, as though she were suddenly a villain. Archie didn’t excuse what Belle had done, but it was obvious she was no Norman Bates or Jeffrey Dahmer.

“No, her biting habit’s done with, I think. She’s two weeks clean of any aggressive behavior… The nurses have even stopped using restraints.”

“What about sedatives?”

“…they still occasionally need them,” Archie admitted.

                They both went quiet as Ruby set down a hot chocolate with cinnamon in front of Emma. They had agreed to keep as much of the case a secret as they possibly could, for Belle’s sake as well as their own. The official story was that Mr. Gold had started killing people, Belle had found out and eventually, she snapped and killed him. No mention of cannibalism or an iron maiden.

                The only ones who knew Belle had gone the way of Lecter were Emma, Archie, and Regina, and not even Regina wanted to tell Storybrooke they had a clever cannibal to worry about.

“She still on that Ives thing?” She asked once they were safe to speak again.

                Archie nodded, “It’s a disassociation tool; if it was someone else then she didn’t kill the love of her life,” he frowned, “But you know, the DNA results-“

“Were inconclusive,” Emma interrupted, “No match anywhere, which is impossible in this day and age. I don’t think the curse factored in those kinds of tests,” she sighed, “Well if she didn’t kill Mr. Gold then where’s he been?”

“She thinks Ives killed him to take his place in Storybrooke… Leaving him alive would be a loose end.”

“Fair enough,” Emma sipped at her drink, “What about the other murders? Any motive?”

“None that she’ll discuss. She gets…agitated, vague,” Archie took a drink of his coffee, “She’s confessed to over half of the murders, but not all of them. She couldn’t give some of the names, and there was no recognition when they were told to her.”

“So she acted, big deal.”

“No, I think she genuinely didn’t kill all of them,” he met her eyes, “She’s remorseful… She grieves the lives she’s taken and makes no attempts to justify her actions. This isn’t the behavior of a psycho or sociopath…not even of a common criminal.”

                Emma’s forehead crinkled, “What are you saying exactly?”

                Archie took a deep breath, “…that Belle’s completely sane.”

“Have you lost it?!” Emma snapped, leaning closer to hiss, “She eats people and thinks her boyfriend was someone pretending to be him!”

“She won’t explain the cannibalism,” he admitted quietly, “But she views it as a disease, something she has to overcome. She’s asked for help to stop.”

“How on earth does that make her sane?”

“How does it make her any less sane, recognizing wrong and trying to fix it?”

                A glass shattered as it hit the ground. Emma glanced at Ruby, but Ruby was staring at the door. Emma turned and gasped. Standing there, looking as real as any other patron, was Mr. Gold.

                Mr. Gold glanced around uncertainly, the entire restaurant staring at him as if he had sprouted scales and got a perm. He spotted Ruby and approached her.

“Miss Lucas, I was wondering if you know where Belle is. I’ve checked her apartment, the library, the bookstore, even her father’s… She’s not picking up her cell,” he shifted uncomfortably, “Is she upset with me?”

                Ruby continued to stare, looking as though at any moment she’d fling salt over her shoulder and screech “get thee behind me Satan!”. Mr. Gold tolerated it for a few moments before turning to Emma.

“Why is everyone acting as though they’ve seen a ghost?” He snapped, “Didn’t you tell them that I was going to stay behind to work out things with my son?”

                Emma swallowed roughly.

“Belle’s in the asylum…” She said slowly, “…because we thought she killed you.”

                It was nothing short of what she deserved, but Belle still resented the four stone walls, the cot, the hospital clothes. She was right back to where she had been before the curse broke, though this time it was her own fault. The first few weeks had been hell, Ives’s essence staying in her body for a good month before fading. The need to kill overwhelmed sense, and she was surprised any nurses came near her after the bite marks she had left on some of them. She could feel the power slipping through her fingers, becoming a mere human again with all of its limitations and knowing what she could be. Many days she screamed herself hoarse in frustration…and grief.

                Finally her body detoxed and she was left with her thoughts, emotions, memories, and a gnawing hunger that never went away. She cried herself to sleep, and awoke the next day only to face what she had done all over again. At least Archie showed her kindness, despite what she had become. He said if she went another week without an “incident” they would start letting her read books. That promise alone was enough to make life after virtual death worth living.

                The door to her cell opened and she set down her chipped cup. It wasn’t like Archie to visit twice in one day… Maybe she had lost track of time and a nurse was here with dinner.

“Belle?”

                Belle tensed. It couldn’t be him. She ate his heart and a good portion of the rest of him… Not even he could survive that. Was he here for revenge? Fine, she’d die trying to kill him a second time.

“Sweetheart…”

                Her eyes adjusted to the light and she looked over the man, everything right… She met his gaze. A warm gaze. A gaze full of tenderness. Irises that showed a soul.

                Belle uncurled and stumbled towards him, staring in disbelief. She raised a hand to hesitantly touch his face. It met warm flesh.

“It’s you,” she gasped, tears welling up in her eyes, “You’re real… You’re alive!”

                She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, breathing him in. He held her nearly to the point of suffocation, his cheek pressed to her hair.

“Yes, Belle, I’m alive, I’m here… And I am never going to leave you again, I promise. You’re going to be fine…everything’s going to be alright.”

                They were both sobbing, holding onto each other as though someone would come and tear them apart. And, for the first time since Ives had lied and said Rumplestiltskin was dead…she believed she might actually be okay.

**III**

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” he had assured her as they drove away from the hospital. The fact that he had mistakenly been accused of being dead, no one had listened to Belle at any point, and he had magic again meant she had been easily discharged despite being guilty of murder.

                Another day in Storybrooke, basically.

                He tried to hide his fury the best he could. He had told the Charmings to look after Belle and yet because a man looked and behaved like him they assumed she was crazy. He had even told Emma that he was staying behind and she had taken a complete stranger home with them. She and Henry were supposed to be the smart Charmings…

All she said was that a man known as Ives had come pretending to be him, threatening her father if she told. She didn’t explain the murders, only admitting that she had killed in order to eventually destroy Ives. He did not dwell on it if he could help it, instead trying to reassure his Belle that everything was alright.

                He had missed her so much, and he was relieved to know that she at least had her memories back. As horrible as it was, he was secretly glad she decided to spend some nights curled up in his bed, him taking a disgusting satisfaction that he was there to calm her after her nightmares (even if half the time his face caused her more panic). She avoided the downstairs rooms, particularly the dining room and kitchen. When he caught her trembling at the sight of the shed, he had it demolished that afternoon without a question. His darling would not suffer in his presence.

                He was half asleep when he felt fingers undoing his nightshirt’s buttons, warm lips resting against his skin. He continued to feign sleep, though it was difficult as Belle licked at him, tongue trailing towards the left side of his chest. When had she learned about _this_? It got more difficult as she began to nip and suck at a place just over his pounding heart, but he managed to keep still.

                Then, she sank her teeth into him, breaking skin and digging into flesh. He cried out, jerking upright. Belle was off of him in an instant. He stared down in disbelief at the two bleeding crescents, a ring of puncture wounds that had gone remarkably deep. He then stared at Belle, who sat trembling at the end of his bed, starting to cry as blood dribbled down her chin.

“I’m sorry Rumple, I’m so sorry, I don’t know… I’m so sorry!” She sobbed, looking helpless and terrified.

                Mr. Gold continued to stare, the words drawn out of him slowly.

“…what did he _do_ to you?”

                Belle glanced down, and then back up at him, her voice cracking, “Do…do you know…how to stop a craving for human flesh?”

**III**

                Belle stood beside Mr. Gold as they watched the locksmith work on the front door of the library. She had not realized how far gone she was until last night; she supposed Ives was right after all about her lack of control.

“Are you sure about this?” Mr. Gold asked softly.

                She nodded, “It’s not safe for me to be out and about… If I can even attack you there’s no way I should be allowed in public.”

“It wasn’t an attack, it was a bite. An _accident_.”

“But what if I don’t snap out of it next time?” She protested, “What if I keep going, or what if I attack someone else?”

“Belle-“

“I need to be locked up,” she said firmly, “…I don’t want to be a killer any longer.”

                The locksmith picked up his toolkit, and ambled back towards them, “All done, Mr. Gold… Though why you want the library to lock from the outside is beyond me.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, offering no explanation. The locksmith gave him the bill, tipped his hat, and left them alone.

                Telling Rumplestiltskin about what she had become had been difficult, but he had taken it well. He comforted her as she sobbed out the full story with details of what she was now, silent except for the occasional expletive directed towards Ives. He had treated her no differently and was horrified when she revealed her plan of recovery to him.

She couldn’t trust herself anymore. Simple as that.

“It’s definitely the nicest prison I’ve ever had,” she mused, her arm looped in his as they walked towards it.

“It’s still a prison,” he muttered.

                She unhooked her arm, turning to face him, “It’s not permanent; once you find a cure then you can lift the spell. But until then…” She glanced off to the side. He stroked her hair.

“I’ll visit you every day,” he promised, “And maybe I can bring some of your friends along too… Ruby and Henry-“

                Belle cut him off with a kiss and they lingered in it, both so terrified of losing each other again. She pulled away first, walking backwards until she had crossed the threshold of the library. She took a deep breath and nodded to him.

                With gargantuan effort, Mr. Gold raised his hand and waved over the doorway. A transparent veil hung over the entrance, shimmering like the ocean caught by light. Belle tried to step back out but her body flattened against the barrier, as unmoving as a brick wall. She smiled and eased back.

“It works,” she commented.

                Mr. Gold reached inside easily, clasping her hand.

“I will find a cure for you,” he vowed, “I will free you again.”

                She smiled, squeezing his hand, “I know… That’s what makes this so easy.”

                She had stood by him in his darkest moments…he would easily do the same for her. Even if it meant sealing her inside a library until he could stop her new wendigo nature… He would help her overcome this horrid appetite.

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys suck for guessing the plot twist, even though there was plenty of foreshadowing so I can't blame you. Poor Belle... If she would have let Ives finish during dinner he would've said "As a matter of fact, I didn't." And then he was convinced she wouldn't listen to him even if he told her the truth after that.
> 
> Thank you guys for reading and commenting; I know it's not everyone's cup of tea but I just couldn't resist it. Love y'all!
> 
> R.I.P. Ives. Long live Wendingo!Belle.


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